


the trying, reaching, failing (winning)

by bokubroya (liarielle)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injured Kageyama Tobio, M/M, Major Character Injury, Multi, Not Beta Read, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26954059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liarielle/pseuds/bokubroya
Summary: It’s clear that the universe has something against Tobio playing volleyball.His soulmates can’t accept him, because one of them hates him for...something. Something to do with volleyball. He stuck around anyway, and lost sight in his eye. He kept playing anyways, and turned himself into a monster that pushed his team to sacrifice going to Nationals over playing another second with him. And now, his hand.If he weren’t so selfish, Tobio would give it up.Perhaps it’s a good thing that he’s too stubborn to give up so easily.---Or, my take on a Kageyama/Iwaizumi/Oikawa soulmates au, with some platonic soulmates and other fun things thrown in! Title is a reference to one of my favorite scenes in The Half of It.- - -Please note: all of my fics are on a temporary/intermittent hiatus. I will get back to regular monthly updates when I am able.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou & Kageyama Tobio, Iwaizumi Hajime/Kageyama Tobio, Iwaizumi Hajime/Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru, Kageyama Miwa & Kageyama Tobio, Kageyama Tobio & Kindaichi Yuutarou & Kunimi Akira, Kageyama Tobio & Tsukishima Kei, Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 100
Kudos: 734





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Abandon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14476695) by [sandersonsister](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandersonsister/pseuds/sandersonsister). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Hey Hey!!!
> 
> I’ve currently got three fics going for Haikyuu. This isn’t the first one I started, but it _is_ the first one that’s ready to post, so here we are! I’m hoping to post the first chapters of the other two soon. 
> 
> All of my writing is self indulgent to some degree, but boy howdy is this one really self indulgent. I have a **big love** for KageIwaOi soulmate AUs, I am following so many of them, and I decided I couldn’t help but write one with some other tropes and story things I like! 
> 
> I have done a decent amount of research for the two injuries Kageyama experiences in this story, but I am writing about them quite vaguely. One, because I don’t want people to feel too squeamish, and two, because I am probably straddling the line between realistic and unrealistic medical stuff. I’ve happily accepted that as a part of this process. 
> 
> Please note the implied/referenced child abuse tag. There are no graphic or detailed scenes, but this chapter does make several references to the abuse. If at any point there are more detailed scenes, I will section them out and make them easily skippable. Panic attacks will be treated the same way in this fic. 
> 
> That should be everything, I hope y’all enjoy this!

It’s cliché how it happens—they both reach for the same ball in the storage bin, their hands brush, and Tobio’s chest erupts with crackling warmth that pulls him in like a current. He’s never felt this before, but somehow he _knows_. A romantic soulmate. It’s rare to meet them so young. There should be a dozen thoughts and questions weaving through his mind, but Tobio’s head is empty as he lifts it, wondering who stands across from him. 

The warmth in his chest hardens to stone, and crumbles into icy water, as blue eyes meet brown. Oikawa looks…

He looks _horrified_. 

The dam in Tobio’s mind bursts. He doesn’t know how this is possible, how his soulmate could be someone who already has a romantic soulmate. Maybe he’s wrong, maybe the bond is platonic but—no. He can feel it, he _knows_ it’s not. A solution presents itself, and hope blisters Tobio’s heart as his chest warms once more. 

“A polybond?” he whispers, wondering aloud. He expects Oikawa to be relieved, to realize that Iwaizumi must be Tobio’s soulmate too, the three of them together. Instead, if it’s possible, Oikawa looks even _more_ horrified. And it’s…

It’s like looking in a mirror, that moment when time slows, when Tobio hears the front door open, hears the cadence of his father’s footsteps through the house. The fear that claws at every nerve in his body, that twists his expression, that’s what has hold of Oikawa in this moment. 

“Are you alright, Oikawa-san?” Tobio asks, reaching for his senpai, his _soulmate_. The barest touch ghosts across his fingertips, and Oikawa recoils from him. Fear morphs into rage, and Oikawa shoves him away, his hand rough against Tobio’s shoulder. Tobio isn’t expecting it, stumbling back and hitting the ground hard with a wince. Instinct curls his spine, folding him forward to guard his middle with his arms against blows that don’t come. 

“I don’t want this,” Oikawa hisses, his teeth clenched and bared in a snarl. “I don’t want anything to do with this. We’re not. We’re _not_. It’s me and Hajime, that’s it. You’re not part of this. You can’t be.” 

Grief pounds Tobio’s heart against his ribs, and he tips forward to press his palms to the floor, pushing himself to his knees. “Oikawa-san, please-” 

“No!” Oikawa cries, taking a step back. 

“Oi, what the hell is going on?” Iwaizumi’s voice carries into the room, and it should bring relief to both of them, but Tobio’s panic is mirrored on Oikawa’s face. 

“Nothing, Iwa-chan, it’s nothing,” he presses his palms against his boyfriend’s shoulders, trying to push him back. 

“Kageyama is on the floor,” Iwaizumi says gruffly. “It doesn’t look like nothing.” He jerks out of Oikawa’s hold, and stops in front of Tobio, holding a hand out to him. Tobio starts to reach for him, faltering at the choked sound he hears from Oikawa. 

“Don’t,” Oikawa wheezes, and Tobio draws his hand back. He’s not fast enough though, and Iwaizumi’s palm smooths against his, fingers curling over the back of his hand as he’s pulled to his feet. Warmth returns, smooth and circling this time, wrapping around him and squeezing tight. Iwaizumi releases his hand in shock, and Tobio just manages to catch himself from stumbling back to the floor. 

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says, and Tobio’s heart grows faint. Iwaizumi’s voice is flat. There’s no trace of excitement, or even nervousness. 

“Iwaizumi-san,” Tobio says, his voice cracking, sounding like a plea. 

“Stay...just stay here for a minute Kageyama,” Iwaizumi says tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Tooru-” 

“No!” Oikawa shakes his head sharply, glowering in Tobio’s direction. 

“Tooru!” Iwaizumi’s voice raises, and both Oikawa and Tobio flinch. “Just, come on.” Iwaizumi places his hand on the back of Oikawa’s neck, and guides him out of the storage room. Tobio stays put, like Iwaizumi told him to. At least...at first. 

But he’s not strong enough to hold the weight of this silence, so he creeps towards the door. Voices carry from down the hall, and Tobio places his feet close to the wall, silencing his footsteps down towards the sound. He stops as soon as he’s close enough to parse out Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s voices. 

“-can’t do this Hajime!” Oikawa chokes out, his voice muffled. Tobio thinks he hears sniffling, maybe a stray sob, and panic wraps around his throat. 

“I know,” Iwaizumi hushes him gently. “I know. We’ll figure something out, Tooru.” 

“We _can’t_ ,” Oikawa snaps. “He’ll just, he’ll take _everything_!” 

“That’s not true-”

“He’ll ruin everything,” Oikawa hisses, barreling over Iwaizumi’s voice. “He’ll, he’s just, he comes in, like he’s supposed to be here, and he’ll hurt us.”

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says harshly. “No. This isn’t...Kageyama isn’t him, Tooru.” 

“He’s just like him,” Oikawa sobs. “He shows up out of nowhere, when we’re already happy, and wants to be a part of this. Exactly like my dad did, and then he _hurt us_ , Hajime, for so long, and-” 

_Oh_. Tobio’s hands shake, and he curls them into fists so he doesn’t have to feel his weakness. He wonders if this is how he’ll get caught, if they can hear it too, how his breaths get harsh, and his heart hammers away in his chest. Oikawa’s dad is like his. 

“And he’s gone,” Iwaizumi soothes. “Your moms took you away from him. He’s gone, and he’s not coming back. Kageyama isn’t him. He’s-Tooru, he’s a kid like us.” 

Tobio’s face bristles with heat, with shame at the jealousy he feels, knowing that Oikawa got away from his dad. 

“But he could be,” Oikawa’s voice lowers, so much so that Tobio has to strain to hear him. “And even if he’s not, he’s still just going to, to take everything from me. Everything and now you, too.” 

Tobio can’t hear any more, not without crying out, protesting that he won’t, he won’t take anything. He doesn’t want to take anything. He just…

He just _wants_. 

He returns to the storage room, and finds a corner to slide down against, twining his arms around his knees to hug them to his chest. Sometimes, Tobio needs to be small. It’s safer that way. 

Some time later, the door swings open, and Tobio jolts to his feet when he sees Iwaizumi step into the room. He looks exhausted, eyes rimmed with red, his breaths uneven. 

“Iwaizumi-san, I’m sorry-” 

“Don’t,” Iwaizumi holds up a hand, stopping the flow of Tobio’s words. “You didn’t…” Iwaizumi stops and sighs heavily, closing his eyes and pinching his mouth shut for a moment. Tobio ignores the part of him that knows what’s coming, and digs his nails into a sliver of hope instead. “This isn’t your fault, Kageyama. But it’s still a mess.” 

“I-I know,” Tobio mumbles. “I can, I can try and fix it, whatever I need to-” 

“A wall,” Iwaizumi cuts in, looking surprised at his own outburst, then determined. “You need to put up a wall. We don’t...we _can’t_ , Kageyama.” 

Tobio feels...nothing. No warmth, no icy fear, just. Heavy, constricting numbness. “Oh,” he whispers. 

“Something got messed up,” Iwaizumi says, but he sounds like he’s begging. “This is a mistake.” It’s not the first time he’s been called that, but Tobio’s eyes still sting. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” Iwaizumi frowns. 

“Okay,” Tobio repeats. “I don’t know how to do that, but I’ll find out.” Tobio’s voice sounds far away from himself, like someone else is speaking in his voice. He bows low, and keeps his head angled down when he straightens. “Please tell the coaches I went home sick.” 

“Kageyama,” Iwaizumi sounds sad, but Tobio doesn’t understand why, and he doesn’t stop to hear what else he has to say. He walks past him through the door and, meeting no resistance, keeps going. He doesn’t remember grabbing his things from the locker room, or the walk home. 

It takes a little over an hour of searching for Tobio to finally find what he’s looking for. There are plenty of informational articles about bond walls, but none of them provide instructions on _how_ to create one. Over and over, Tobio reads and somewhat understands the risks, and that he’s supposed to have the assistance of a physician, but that’s not an option for him. 

Finally, he stumbles across someone’s personal blog. It’s not his first choice for information, but it’s the first thing he finds that talks about actually putting the wall up, and the blogger’s experience with maintaining it. Distantly, as Tobio follows the instructions on the first post, he hopes that the strain and fatigue won’t impact his volleyball performance too badly. 

When the wall finally snaps into place, it hurts—the blogger warned it would, but Tobio didn’t know how much pain to expect. He thought it might feel like his father’s feet or fists, or the sting of broken glass from a bottle. Or maybe the pressure in his skull after a few days without enough food or water. 

It’s worse. 

Parts of him that Tobio didn’t know could hurt _burn_ , as that heat that pulled him in and surrounded him when he touched Oikawa and Iwaizumi intensifies and pools through his entire body. 

It doesn’t last long, thankfully, only about twenty seconds or so, and it stops abruptly, leaving behind a dull ache. Tobio lays sprawled across his bed, and he can’t stop trembling. He knows he should get up, get something to eat, or something to drink, shower and take care of himself. But he can’t. His limbs are heavy, and his eyelids slip closed against his will. Tobio gives in, and succumbs to sleep. 

\-----

Life is, unexpectedly, pretty much normal after Tobio puts up the wall. That dull ache of pain doesn’t really go away. It finds the parts of Tobio that hurt from other things, like volleyball and his father, and coils up there. It only ever flares up when Tobio is too close to his soulmates, or when they meet his eyes. 

So he learns to keep his distance and avoid looking at them, as much as he can anyways. Tobio can only be so selfish—when the stakes are volleyball, when it’s the difference between winning or losing, even in practice, Tobio ignores the pain and pushes through it. 

Oikawa and Iwaizumi seem happier now, Tobio notices. He’s not sure how he never noticed before. He knew that Oikawa was strange around him, that his smile was too wide, his voice too saccharine. And he knew that Iwaizumi always seemed like he was afraid to get caught being nice to Tobio. Now that Tobio is avoiding them, their lives seem easier. 

And maybe that’s enough. Maybe Tobio is a mistake, but he can at least do this. He can at least sacrifice some of his own comfort to make them happy. If that’s the closest he can get to loving them, maybe it’s enough. 

\-----

Of course, it can’t stay that simple for long. Tobio is trying, has _been_ trying, for years. Ever since Miwa left, went to Tokyo to start her career when her internship supervisor offered her a prestigious position, Tobio has been trying. He was ten when she left, with their father’s blessing, and the changes were subtle. 

His father’s awkward and strict demeanor became brittle, and Tobio thought that maybe, with some luck, they’d build something closer between them. Something without the bitterness of his mother’s death. He was wrong. 

Tobio thought he could shoulder it. The pain, the harsh drunken words, learning to take care of himself without any guidance. He fully intended to tolerate it as long as he had to, until he was old enough to leave like Miwa. But now…

_“Maybe you’d learn your lesson if I broke your hand,” his father leers, the heavy scent of alcohol wafting over Tobio’s fear plastered face._

His father has threatened many things before—when he’s drunk, and anything Tobio does pisses him off, his father says a lot of things. But nothing has _ever_ dug blades of terror so deep before. With the idea planted in his mind, he might actually _do it_. He’s followed through on threats before, if he’s pushed enough, and Tobio never knows what will push him enough. 

Tobio doesn’t know what to do. He entertains the idea, briefly, of telling an adult. One of his coaches, or maybe a teacher. But he’d tried that once, a year after Miwa left, and they hadn’t taken him seriously. They’d called his father, expressing concerns over Tobio’s wellbeing at home, suggesting that maybe he was lonely. 

Loneliness doesn’t leave bruises—if it did, Tobio would have no traces of unmarred skin left. 

With that option untenable, Tobio only has one choice left. 

It’s a bad idea, he _knows_ it is, but he doesn’t have any other options. He needs to get out, to get away. And Oikawa knows how to make that happen. Tobio remembers what Iwaizumi said to Oikawa. ‘He’s gone’, ‘your moms took you away from him’. So they’ll know what to do. They have to. 

He knows this isn’t a good day to ask. They had a practice match, and Oikawa...he wasn’t himself. Tobio had been switched in, and he had to be selfish. He had to put winning, the team, volleyball, before his soulmate. And now, as he walks into the gym, towards Oikawa and Iwaizumi, he has to be selfish again. Maybe this is why he’s a mistake, why his bond with them is a mistake. He’s always too selfish. 

But his father’s threat still echoes in his mind, so Tobio presses on. Neither of them notice him until he’s close, until he speaks. 

“Oikawa-san,” Tobio says softly, as gently as he can. He hears Iwaizumi’s sharp inhale, and tries not to flinch when Oikawa’s gaze shifts his way, angry and intense. “I-I need, I think I need your help. Both of you. I-” Tobio doesn’t get to finish. 

The moment is fragmented, but Tobio can piece together a few pieces. A flash in Oikawa’s eyes, fear and panic, a hand flying towards his face, a blur of movement by the door, where Iwaizumi was standing. Tobio is more than familiar with the view of a hand coming towards his face. But he’s learned not to flinch away, not to try and block the blow, else he invite more of his father’s rage. It almost seems like Iwaizumi will catch Oikawa’s wrist, but he doesn’t. 

Sharp pain explodes around Tobio’s left eye, and he flinches away from it with a quiet cry, squeezing his eye shut and then opening it when that just makes it _worse_. He can feel some drips of blood, above and below his eye, but that’s not where the worst of the pain is. It’s the eye itself, and Tobio realizes that Oikawa’s nails must have cut and caught there. 

“Damn it Tooru!” Iwaizumi bellows, forcing his way between them as Tobio lifts a hand to cover his eye. The pain is just getting _worse_ , from being so close to them, from Oikawa touching him, Iwaizumi’s back brushing his shoulder, the cuts.

Tobio stumbles back, not quite able to stifle a whimper. He meets Oikawa’s eyes over Iwaizumi’s shoulder, sees the guilt and horror there. “S-Sorry,” Tobio chokes out, and before Iwaizumi can grab him, Tobio runs. 

\-----

His father laughs when he sees the injury, and doesn’t even ask how he got it—he just tells Tobio he got what he deserved. 

\-----

Tobio misses practice for a few days after that, giving the coaches some bullshit story about an accident with his nonexistent cousin. School has always been difficult for Tobio, the stress of upsetting his father looming behind every test and quiz. He’s managed to keep his grades decently high out of fear alone. But right now, reading and writing _hurts_ , and so do the buzzing bright lights in the classroom. 

When he returns to volleyball, he avoids Oikawa and Iwaizumi as much as possible, keeps his head down, and tries not to mess up too badly. But he knows he’s off his game—something is _wrong_. 

The pain in his eye hasn’t gone away. If anything, it just keeps getting worse. It feels like something sharp is stuck there, pricking away at him over and over. Lights make it worse, and everytime Tobio looks in the mirror, his eye is red and teary. But what scares him the most is the blurriness on his left side. 

It takes almost three weeks for Tobio to convince his father to take him to a doctor. 

If he’d gotten to one sooner, maybe everything would have been alright. 

Tobio doesn’t really understand all of it. He knows he gets sent to a special eye doctor, and that he has to go almost every day. There are eye drops, and medications, and so many appointments. There’s talk of surgery, that his father refuses. Words Tobio has to look up when he gets home. Corneal abrasions, ulcers, some kind of infection. 

The ones he doesn’t have to look up: scarring and permanent vision loss. 

The scars are strange, pale and cloudy across the middle of his pupil and off to the side of his iris. His vision through his left eye is mostly nonexistent—dull, dark, and heavily blurred. He can detect some light, but not much, let alone distinct shapes or movement. As far as Tobio is concerned, that eye is useless. And he’s growing far too used to the panic attacks that come with that realization. 

He doesn’t argue when his father decides he has to quit volleyball. He can’t set properly like this anyways, not yet. He’s been making a fool of himself ever since the injury, so it’s almost a relief to be freed from it. A thought that makes him nauseous. The one thing that brings Tobio joy, and he’s _relieved_ not to play. 

For now, he reminds himself, every day. This is just for now. Temporary. The time he would spend at practice and matches, he’ll spend on his own, learning to play again with one good eye. Tobio doesn’t know for sure that it’s possible, but he’ll make it so. 

If he can learn to do everything else again, he can play volleyball again. 

\-----

It’s concerningly easy for Tobio to convince his father to buy him dark contact lenses, to hide his scars. He’s gotten a few strange looks, from classmates and his teachers, and Tobio knows it’s because the pale cloudy scars are too visible against the dark color of his eye. They don’t find an exact blue to match Tobio’s, but it’s close enough. 

Tobio realizes why his father agreed so easily a few weeks later, when Miwa is home to visit. Tobio hasn’t told her what happened, and it’s obvious that their father hasn’t either when she doesn’t mention it. Tobio behaves, wears his contacts and keeps his mouth shut, for the entirety of her visit. 

His father buys him more contacts to reward his good behavior. 

\-----

Retraining himself to play volleyball with one eye, to be a _setter_ , is a challenge. The first six months are the hardest. Even setting to an invisible spiker, Tobio fails, over and over. He tosses too fast or too slow, unable to judge the speed of the imaginary approaching player. He tosses too high, or too low, his judge of distance skewed. And his depth perception…

Tobio nearly gives up, more than once. He’s adjusted to reading and writing, and other than a dip around the time of his injury, he’s mostly kept his grades up. He’s slowly learned tricks for moving around school, and his house, ways to check his blind spot, to use his hands more to judge where objects are. He counts silently, almost constantly, having memorized the number of steps between the places he walks the most, and the objects he uses the most.

He reasons that he should be able to apply those tricks to volleyball, and it does work, but not right away. Old instincts, habits, play styles, they’re hard to get rid of so easily, especially since he’s been playing this way since the second grade. 

There are days when Tobio can’t even look at a ball without feeling a coil of poison in his chest. A stretch of three weeks goes by with the ball and the rest of his supplies buried deep in his closet. He goes to school, he comes home, he does his schoolwork, and he sleeps. Maybe he eats, maybe he showers. He definitely deals with his father’s endless rage. But nothing else. 

It’s an offhand comment from Kindaichi that kicks him back into gear, a mention that Oikawa expects to see Tobio back on the court in high school, so he can beat him for real. Tobio knows, in the back of his mind, that he should probably be angry. Oikawa is the one who injured him, after all. But Oikawa is not the reason Tobio’s left eye is blind. The responsibility for that lies fully and solely with his father. 

Knowing that Oikawa expects him to play again is...encouraging, somehow. Oikawa doesn’t know the real reason why Tobio stopped playing. As far as the team is aware, his father disapproved of how much time he put into the sport, and wanted him to spend more time focused on school. It’s a weak excuse, considering Tobio’s grades, but it’s the only one they could use. 

But it’s like...knowing that Oikawa expects him to play again, it feels like he _wants_ him to. Like Oikawa, always so far ahead of him, is looking back, and telling him to catch up. 

\-----

And so he does. Tobio begins to revel in his challenge, and he finds new ways to retrain himself. He continues to practice alone, but he also visits recreational leagues. There, he shares his secret, and practices tossing to anyone and everyone with the patience to indulge him. Tobio learns a rhythm, a twist of his head to cover as much of his left side as possible, a way to judge the speed and distance of a player by where they begin and the sound of their footfalls. He buys thinner shoes, to better feel the movement on the court around him, and learns the exact dimensions of a court, tracing and counting it over and over. He _loathes_ tossing to his blindspot, more than anything else, but he can do it. 

He’ll catch up. 

\-----

“Father, I would like to rejoin the volleyball team,” Tobio says, hiding the trembling in his voice by holding his breath. Across from him at the table, his father freezes, and meets his eyes with cold fury. And the _only_ reason Tobio feels safe enough to ask…

“Isn’t it a bit late in the year to join?” Miwa asks, frowning but looking hopeful. She, more than anyone else, had expressed concern over Tobio quitting. They don’t really know each other that well, not anymore, but his sister at least knows what volleyball means to him. 

“Now is the best time to rejoin,” Tobio answers, lowering his eyes to his plate. “Training is about to start for the next tournament.” 

“I worry about your grades, Tobio,” his father says evenly. “You know this.” 

“Yes,” Tobio wavers. “I, yes. I know. But I’ve kept them up, and...and with my grades, if I perform well in volleyball too, I could apply to Shiratorizawa for high school.” 

“Oh!” Miwa exclaims. “That’s the top school in the prefecture! That would be wonderful, Tobio.” Tobio glances up from his plate, and sees his father’s narrowed eyes. The anger is still there, but he also looks...thoughtful. 

“Alright,” his father finally says, and Tobio nearly chokes on the hope that bursts through his lungs. “You may join. Keep your grades up, improve whatever is lowest, and play _well_.” Miwa doesn’t hear the hidden warning there, but Tobio does. 

If he wants to play, Tobio can’t lose. 

\-----

The team welcomes him back with open arms and excited faces. There’s a buzz among them, a furiously fragile hope that with the genius setter’s return, they might have a chance at getting to Nationals. No one’s hope burns harsher than Tobio’s. 

He can’t lose. 

\-----

His teammates move faster than he remembers, Kindaichi especially. He jumps higher, spikes harder, the makings of an ace. 

Tobio can feel the team’s doubt growing like weeds through the cracks in his confidence, as he struggles to readjust to playing at this pace. 

But Tobio can’t lose. 

\-----

Tobio earns himself the name King of the Court, and at first, it’s a fond title. It’s in his precision, his indescribable awareness of the court, the standards he sets for the five who stand with him. The heights he carries them to. 

And they do stand with him, longer than he expects them to. But Oikawa is still far ahead, and Tobio needs to catch up. It was only a matter of time before the rest of them fell behind. Until they were too slow, their jumps not high enough. None of them seem to _understand_. 

Tobio can’t lose. 

\-----

Tobio poisons his title in his third year. He sees it happening, but it’s like he’s too far away to actually stop it. To stop the harsh demands that snap past his lips, to stop the insults, the cruelty. He doesn’t want to be like this. 

He realizes, far too late, that his teammates are not the problem—he is. They’re not the ones that are too slow. It’s him, and his damn eye, and the panic that creeps closer and closer, a noose around his neck. He _can’t_ lose, and because of that…

He can’t win either. 

His tosses are wild, sloppy, desperate attempts to be what he needs to be. 

The bright orange haired boy is…

Tobio doesn’t know what to think about him. He’s never met someone, other than maybe Oikawa, with the same drive he has. The same desperation, the feeling that he’d need to be dragged kicking and screaming and digging his nails in to be removed from the court. 

How is it possible? How could someone like that, someone so much like himself, play so poorly? Why has he never seen this boy before? If he’d learned to play again with someone like that, would things be different? What the _hell_ is Tobio feeling, watching him play? And then…

Then the boy hits a toss like Tobio’s. And Tobio feels something, something bone deep and powerful, that tells him he _has_ to toss for him. He won’t be satisfied until he does. 

And later, when that same boy declares that he’ll one day beat Tobio, Tobio feels it. A splinter, a crack, in the wall. He’s held it firm for three years now. But this kid…

Hinata Shouyou. 

A platonic soulmate. But how...oh. When they shook hands after the game. He can just barely feel it through the wall. He doesn’t wait to find out if Hinata can feel it too. 

Tobio flees.

\-----

Tobio loses. 

Not because he fails a toss, or because he messes up a block when he doesn’t properly see the ball. Because he shouted his own failures at his teammates until he broke them, and he _hates_ tossing to his blind spot. But he hates the sound of the ball hitting the floor even more. He has to turn around completely to know for sure. 

Dark, nothingness, until he turns enough and sees...no one. 

\-----

After the game, in the hall, Tobio sees Oikawa for the first time since his first year. Oikawa pins his shoulder to the wall, and Tobio tries not to flinch. 

“Don’t bring this mess with you to Aoba Johsai,” Oikawa hisses lowly, giving Tobio’s shoulder a shove before he turns and walks away. 

Tobio is numb as he follows Oikawa’s path, down the hall and through the door, plunged into icy terror when he sees his father waiting for him. 

\-----

Miwa is worried about Tobio. She heard about his last match from their father a few weeks ago, and she knows it must be hitting him hard. They aren’t as close as they should be, and it’s her fault. They’d only just gotten to know each other when she left for Tokyo, and their visits since have been short. He’s an awkward, sweet kid, and she doesn’t understand what happened at that match. 

The sharp shrill ring of her phone drags her from her thoughts, and she doesn’t recognize the number. Something urges her to answer anyway, and Miwa’s world _shatters_. 

“Kageyama-san, your father has been arrested for assaulting your younger brother,” the social worker explains. “You are needed for interviews with police, and with myself to consider whether Tobio should be placed in your care.” 

Miwa doesn’t want to ask, but she does anyway. She has to know what happened, if Tobio is alright. 

“Tobio-kun is in surgery right now,” they say, and Miwa doesn’t have the strength to sob. Tears carve a steady path down her cheeks instead. “His hand was broken in several places, and left untreated for at least two weeks. He’ll be fine, but some damage may be permanent.” 

His _hand_. The only thing Miwa can think about, the only thing she knows Tobio will be thinking about, is volleyball. Miwa will never forgive their father for this, but if Tobio can’t play volleyball anymore, she may have to kill him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are! I hope you liked the start of this story, and I hope you’ll stick around to see where we go next. I don’t have a set posting schedule, I try to rotate through the different fics that I’m writing and update at least once a month for all of them, but sometimes I have time for two each month.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Hey Hey! 
> 
> I wasn’t originally planning on posting this chapter until I had the third chapter written, but I’ve recently started a new job and my writing has gone on pause as I adjust and figure out my new schedule. I’m hoping to get back into a rhythm soon. But! For now, I have this! 
> 
> And WOW! Y’all have been so amazingly kind about the first chapter, I can’t thank you enough. No matter how self indulgent this fic is and how much I’m writing for myself, it’s always easier to write when I have people telling me they like my story. 
> 
> I do like to warn people about panic attacks in chapters, just in case. I’ve sectioned it off with three hyphen lines at the beginning and end, so if people want or need to skim past it, they can. 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys this chapter, we get to meet someone I’m very excited to introduce!

Tobio stares down at his right hand, trapped and protected in a splint, and tries again to visualize where the plates and screws are. He’s seen it on the X-rays, at least a dozen times now. But it’s...different. Looking down at his hand, and trying to see it. For some reason, he thought it would be more obvious. Even the scar from the surgery will be subtle, possibly easy to miss if you don’t know to look for it. 

Tobio wonders if there’s something to be said about how these major injuries, his eye and his hand, leave almost no shred of evidence on the outside. 

Maybe he’s just thinking too much. 

His doctor was impressed by how quickly Tobio memorized the steps for putting his splint on. Tobio doesn’t really understand why. Splinting his hand properly means he’ll heal faster, which means he can start playing volleyball again. Not with his team of course. Even without...what happened, Tobio still had no intention of going back to practice. 

He doesn’t deserve to. 

Really, there’s a sick part of him that sees his broken hand as, perhaps, some kind of divine intervention. Punishment. It’s clear that the universe has something against Tobio playing volleyball. 

His soulmates can’t accept him, because one of them hates him for...something. Something to do with volleyball. He stuck around anyway, and lost sight in his eye. He kept playing anyways, and turned himself into a monster that pushed his team to sacrifice going to Nationals over playing another second with him. And now, his hand. 

If he weren’t so selfish, Tobio would give it up. 

But he has every intention of playing again, as soon as possible. Which, unfortunately, won’t be for about six to eight weeks. There are exercises he can do, to maintain some strength and dexterity in his fingers, and Tobio will be diligent. He’ll have enough issues as it is, between the break itself and the delay in treatment. Anything he can do to offset that is worth it. 

It does mean, though, that he’s all but useless at helping Miwa pack. She doesn’t seem to mind, but the awkward silence tangling with the quiet music playing from her phone grates at his raw nerves. They’re in his bedroom, sorting through his clothes and small assortment of belongings to pack away into boxes. 

It will be strange, Tobio thinks, to live somewhere else. His whole life, he’s always lived here, in this house. He can see the scars of happiness on it, from many years ago. Photos, paintings, odd little decorations, all which belonged to his mother. He wishes he knew what they meant to her. Maybe then he could look at them with anything other than apathy. 

He’s letting Miwa take most of those, since she actually has memories of their mother to honor. Though he has decided to keep one painting. He remembers Miwa telling him about it when he was younger. 

It’s a watercolor painting of a shrine, embraced by the plant life diligently standing guard around it. Apparently, his mother sketched it a few weeks before she died, with little Tobio secured to her chest. Tobio may not remember that day, but it’s still...something. It’s shared, even if it’s not equally split between them. 

“Tobio, are you sure you don’t want me to move back here?” Miwa asks. This is the eleventh time, Tobio notes. “I can find work here, there are plenty of salons and companies like the one I’m with now in Tokyo.” 

For the eleventh time, Tobio nods. “I’m sure,” he says quietly. “I’d prefer you stay in Tokyo.” 

“I wish you’d reconsider coming with me,” Miwa murmurs, and Tobio realizes he maybe wasn’t meant to hear it. 

“I want to stay here,” Tobio replies, matching her tone and avoiding her eyes. Truthfully, it’s not that Tobio has anything against Tokyo. Not really. There are strong volleyball teams there, and it would be a fresh start. 

But he can’t help thinking of what Kindaichi said two years ago. That Oikawa was waiting to see him again on the court. His soulmate made it clear that Aoba Johsai isn’t an option for him. And as much faith as Tobio has in Oikawa and his team, his chances of seeing them on the court again are better if he stays in Miyagi. 

As for Miwa offering to move here, to live with him, well…

Tobio wants to live alone. He wants to come home to a quiet house that will _stay_ that way. He wants to stake his claim over any corner he wants, without fear. He just...he just wants to _be,_ without bothering anyone else, and without them bothering him. 

And secretly, part of him is terrified that Miwa might turn out like their father. See, Tobio has started noticing a pattern. He’s good at that. 

Tobio’s mother spent too much time with him, according to his father, and her health complications began after his birth. Then she died. 

Oikawa and Iwaizumi were perfectly happy as soulmates, on their own, until Tobio butted in. More exposure to him caused Oikawa to lash out, Iwaizumi to close off. 

Kindaichi and Kunimi gave Tobio a shot at friendship, over and over, and held out far longer than they needed to. Eventually, they had no choice but to turn against him. 

And his father...yeah. 

So. Tobio has noticed that he and people don’t seem to be a good mix. That poses some problems for whatever team he ends up on in high school, but he’ll cross that bridge when he gets there. 

For now, Tobio likes things with Miwa the way they are. She seems to, at the very least, tolerate and _maybe_ like him. But she’s bound to realize that he twisted and poisoned their father. And if she moved here, wouldn’t she resent him? He knows she can’t get a job here that pays anywhere close to her position in Tokyo. She has friends there, a future. 

Tobio has been selfish enough. He sees no reason to risk his luck by letting Miwa leave Tokyo for him. 

Miwa sighs tiredly and turns to face him. “I know. And...I know you want your space. But,” Miwa pauses, and Tobio’s chest constricts. Why is there a ‘but’? She’d agreed, she’d agreed to stay in Tokyo and let him stay in Miyagi on his own. 

“But,” Miwa continues. “I’m not, I can’t just _leave_ you.”

“Y-You said-“

“I know, Tobio,” Miwa soothes. “I know. I’m not moving here. But I’m not staying away either. We need to compromise on this. So, this is what we’re gonna do. I’ll leave Tokyo after work on Fridays and come here. I’ll be here Friday night, over the weekend, and I’ll leave on Mondays after dinner.” 

It’s not what he wants. What Tobio wants, more than anything, is to have the new house to himself, maybe with some visits every now and then. But there’s a familiar glint and gleam in Miwa’s eyes, one that mirrors his own when he’s in the midst of an intense game. She won’t budge on this. Any attempts to make her are doomed to fail. 

“Okay,” Tobio relents quietly. “Okay.”

Miwa smiles sadly at him. “This will be a good thing, Tobio. I promise. I…” Miwa pauses, and looks down at her hands. “I missed things. Important things, that were happening right in front of me. Maybe, if I’d been here, I would have seen them. Maybe I could have helped you.” Her voice shifts as she speaks, becoming bitter and sad. 

“It’s not your fault,” Tobio is quick to whisper. 

“No,” Miwa agrees. “It’s his. But that doesn’t mean it’s okay. I don’t want to miss things anymore, Tobio. If this will work better for you, taking it slow like this, we’ll do it this way. But I don’t want to miss anything else. You have to promise me you’ll stay in touch when I’m not here. Keep me updated. And don’t hide things from me. _Please.”_

“I won’t,” Tobio says quickly. 

Miwa looks at him intently. “Promise me.” 

Tobio ducks his head, avoiding her eyes. He knows she’s looking at his left eye, free of contacts with the scars visible. “I promise,” his voice cracks on the word, and he’s shocked to realize that he means it. 

“Good,” Miwa says decisively. “Well. Looks like we’re all set in here. I’ll check the list and see what we’ve got left. If I’m right, I bet we can get you moved into the new house this weekend.” 

\-----

The new house falls silent after Tobio closes the door behind Miwa. Calling it new might be a stretch—their father’s house sold for a decent sum of money, and Miwa’s income is nothing to scoff at, but they’d decided on something small, and a little older. 

Tobio doesn’t mind. To him, it’s perfect. Three bedrooms. One for Tobio, one for Miwa when she visits, and one for guests, or at least, that’s what Miwa said. Tobio isn’t really planning on having guests. But it’s there all the same. 

The kitchen is small, but not too cramped. Plenty enough room for one person, maybe two, to cook at a time. Room for one is all he needs. He likes that the dining table is nestled close to the kitchen. He could have something cooking and sit at the table to do homework. It sounds...nice. Peaceful, even. 

A new table was one of the few things Tobio agreed to let Miwa buy him, rather than bring the one from their father’s house. Some things in that house, Tobio has no bad memories with. But that table...tense nights spent fixing his eyes on patterns in the wood, the sound of his father’s glass hitting the surface. It had to go. 

Tobio’s favorite part about the living area is the corner chair that Miwa got him as a gift. A surprise. It’s almost big enough to be considered a loveseat, and shaped like a wedge so it nestles flush against the walls. There’s a window on one side of it, and Tobio is going to keep a small bookshelf with his school things on the other. 

He doesn’t plan to spend much time watching television, it’s never really been his thing. But he has the couch and TV from the old house, just in case. At the very least, it’ll be nice for watching volleyball matches. 

There is only one thing that Tobio has a true love hate relationship with in the new house—the stairs. The three bedrooms are on the second floor, and these stairs are strangers. Years in the old house let Tobio learn each individual step, where he should place his feet, how much weight he could press down with, which steps should be skipped entirely. He’s back to square one here, and these stairs are far from quiet. Of course, that means that anyone else who tries to reach him would fall victim to their shrieking as well. So there is that. 

Before bed that night, Tobio locks the front door, and checks all of the windows on the main floor of the house, closing the blinds snugly on all of them. He creeps through the house using the flashlight on his phone, even though he knows he could turn on any lights he wants without consequence. Tobio counts quietly as he navigates the space, mapping and memorizing his new terrain. 

He takes his time on the stairs, introducing himself slowly to each step, wincing and breathing harshly at every creak and shriek. He forgets to count how many there are, but he’ll worry about that in the morning. 

Once upstairs, Tobio closes himself in his new bedroom. It’s much larger than what he’s used to, the room that would normally belong to parents. The heads of a household. Tobio supposes that’s him now, even though he has Miwa. 

Tobio locks the door, and makes his way to his bed after changing into his pajamas. His steps are slow, and uncertain, as he counts quietly and remembers the numbers from when he and Miwa set up his room. He bumps into the bed half a step earlier than he expects to, and makes a mental note and adjustment to his count. 

Sleep eludes Tobio for nearly two hours before he finally manages to grab hold of it and dig his nails in. It’s light, and restless, even though this is the same bed he’s used to, and the desk against the wall is his too. It’s like he can somehow _feel_ the wrong dimensions around him, the oblong wall looming across from him. 

Tobio isn’t sure how long he manages to sleep before he’s woken violently by a loud crashing sound downstairs. 

He’s awake and out of bed before he can think, counting his quick strides from his bed to the closet, where he can duck inside and hide from his father until he hears him—

_SMACK._

Tobio’s face collides with a wall, and he stumbles back, groaning sharply and pressing a hand against his nose. The pain is enough to pry instincts claws out of his skin, and he remembers that he’s in the new house. His father isn’t here. But Tobio _knows_ he heard something. 

And—

Again! Another crash, duller this time, but still enough to snap Tobio’s heart into a frantic sprinting pace, adrenaline and terror slicing through his limbs. This can’t be happening. His first night, he’s alone, no one else is _here_ , it’s just him and whoever is downstairs. Tobio's knees are locked so tight it feels like he’ll need a crowbar to pry himself free, and he can’t remember the last time he shook this badly. 

Ten minutes pass without another sound. Tobio knows, because he counts every second, and with each passing minute, he digs his fingernails in harder on his palm as his uninjured hand curls into a fist. In a moment of bravery, or perhaps hysteria, Tobio decides he should check downstairs. 

It takes him another five minutes to make it all the way down, and by the time he reaches the bottom, hot liquid is pooling down his cheeks from his eyes. He looks around frantically, his phone framing the living area in a trembling strobe light as his hand shakes. 

There, by the dining table, Tobio sees what likely woke him. A box of dishes that was on a chair now lies on the floor, scattered shards adorning the wood. Tobio carefully avoids the area, mindful of his bare feet. The source of the second crash seems to be one of the other chairs, toppled over on its side. Tobio frowns and wonders what kind of thief would do such a thing. 

As it turns out, he may get to see—there’s a thud in the far corner of the living room, across from him. Tobio cries out and scrambles back, mindlessly dropping his phone in his panic. Light shatters across the room before it’s snuffed out when his phone lands back facing down, leaving behind a sickly glow where he once stood. 

\---

Tobio takes the stairs two at a time and barrels into the first room, the guest room, throwing himself into the first hiding place he sees. An open closet. He slams the door shut behind him and wedges himself into the corner, sliding down to sit with his arms clamped around his legs. He digs his chin into his knees and keens lowly, choking and coughing harshly when his breaths become ragged and painful. 

It’s too dark to see anything but Tobio can tell his vision is narrowing even more than it already is normally because of his eye. What little he can see grows fuzzy, and fizzles out, which just makes Tobio’s ribs squeeze down tighter around his lungs. 

The ichor monopolizing his vision is vast, and endless, and dizziness clouds his thoughts. The only coherent thing Tobio can think is that he’s going to pass out—and it’s probably a blessing. He doesn’t know what’s happening, but he knows he doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t—

_Scritch schrch._

Tobio flinches and locks his eyes on the door, or at least, where he thinks it is. The sound repeats, and without meaning to, Tobio latches onto it. Whatever that is, it’s real, and it’s not his staggered breathing or snotty crying. Tobio can’t parse out its pattern, but he finds himself breathing slower as he tries. And then…

\---

There’s a meow. Once, twice, again and again, alongside what Tobio begins to realize are tiny claws scratching against the closet door. 

A cat. 

Somehow, there is a cat in Tobio’s house. 

A cat that must have knocked over the box of dishes, and the chair. 

A cat that was exploring the other pile of boxes in the corner of the living room. 

A cat that followed Tobio upstairs, and is, by the sound of it, very unhappy with him hiding. 

Tobio rocks forward onto his knees, and shuffles over to the door. His clammy hand curls around the doorknob, and it takes him a few tries to twist it. He opens the closet door the barest amount, and leans his cheek against the doorframe to peer out with his right eye. 

A paw hooks around the door and tugs, as the cat trills at him and bonks its head against the door. Tobio releases the doorknob, and watches as the cat pries the door open just enough to squeeze through the gap. 

It approaches him fearlessly, stretching forward to sniff him. Tobio can’t make out it’s pattern or colors in the dark, but he _can_ see that it’s large, and very fluffy. Against his better judgement, Tobio extends his good hand towards the cat, and gasps softly when it immediately knocks its head against his knuckles and rubs. 

The gentle rumbling sound of purring fills the room, and Tobio ghosts his fingers along the cat’s fur. It doesn’t seem satisfied with this measly attempt at attention and crawls into his lap, plopping down and rolling onto its back. 

It’s about as heavy as Tobio expected, and the weight feels nice. He sinks his hand into the cat’s fur, stroking gently and breathing in time with his passes over the cat. Tobio wonders if it’s normal for a cat to purr this loud without pause, but he’s certainly not complaining. 

“You scared me,” Tobio whispers, wincing as his raw voice cracks in his throat. The cat meows in response, a short, hoarse sound. Tobio’s lips twitch. “You sound like a duck.” The cat echoes that sentiment with another quack-like meow. 

A few minutes of petting the cat lessens the tension in Tobio’s limbs, and he suddenly realizes how _tired_ he is. “I need to go to bed,” he murmurs. “You can come too, I guess. I’ll try to figure out how you got in tomorrow. And find who you belong to.” The cat purrs louder, but meows in protest when Tobio shifts to stand. It winds its way between his legs as he walks to his room, so he has to be extra slow and careful. 

Tobio flops down on his bed and makes half an attempt at covering himself with his blanket. A solid, rumbling weight settles on his back after a few seconds, and something about that pressure makes Tobio feel safe. It’s silly, really. It’s not like this cat can really protect him from anything. But that doesn’t stop him from sinking in to sleep just a few minutes later. 

\-----

Tobio wakes the next morning, not from his alarm like he normally does, but from the feeling of something gently batting at his face. Repeatedly. He groans into his pillow and cracks his eye open, huffing softly when he sees the cat’s paw coming towards his face again. 

He sits up before it can bop him, and finally gets a good look at his intruder. The cat is even bigger and fluffier than he thought, golden and tawny along its back and onto its face, where it meets soft white fur that dips down its chin and all along its belly and legs, with a few splatters of gold on its paws. 

Tobio yawns widely and reaches out to pat the cat’s head. “‘M gonna call you Milk Bread,” he mumbles tiredly. The cat mrrps at him, and Tobio shrugs. “It’s what you look like.” He pointedly does not mention that it’s also Oikawa’s favorite food. Milk Bread doesn’t need to know this. 

A few more minutes pass with Tobio stroking Milk Bread’s fur, when he notices...its eye. Tobio’s breath catches in his throat, and he finds unexpected tears stinging his eyes. 

Milk Bread’s left eye is cloudy, like Tobio’s. 

“I hope you’re a stray,” Tobio whispers. “So you can stay.” Milk Bread meows loudly, and insistently, and as much as Tobio wants to think it agrees with him, he knows the cat is probably just hungry. So after some stretching, Tobio climbs out of bed and makes his way downstairs. He knows he doesn’t have any cat food, but he may have some plain canned tuna that will suffice for now. 

When he gets downstairs, Tobio sees his phone and only now remembers dropping it the night before. That explains why he didn’t wake up to his alarm. Tobio is shocked to find that his phone is still clinging to life, just barely. 

A glance at his screen leaves him confused, though he doesn’t spend much time dwelling on it, not with Milk Bread yowling and pawing at his leg. Still. 

Tobio wonders why he has several missed calls from two different numbers, but what really gets to him are the numbers themselves—he’s almost certain he should recognize them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all I can’t even begin to describe how excited I was to write Milk Bread, I love this damn cat and I’m going to put her in any of my Haikyuu fics that I can just for fun because _yes_.
> 
> As a general note, I tried to keep up and reply to all comments on the first chapter but I wasn't able to, and I probably won't be able to now that I've started working full time. But please know that I read and love every comment I get, and I will reply when I can!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Hey Hey! 
> 
> It’s...been a hot minute since I’ve written that. I’m sorry about the near two month pause, things got crazy at work in November and then I hit a very solid wall of writer’s block that I am _finally_ pushing through. I have absolutely no posting schedule in mind from this point forward, I’m just going to keep writing when I can, and I’m going to try to ease back into all of my wips.

Tobio manages to find a can of plain tuna for Milk Bread, though he’s not sure if it’s actually _good_ for the cat. He figures it’s better than not feeding her at all. The same is true for him. His breakfast could be better, but at least he’s eating.

It’s not long before his mind wanders back to his phone, currently charging on the other side of the room. He’d realized it as he was scooping the tuna into a bowl for Milk Bread, why he recognized those numbers.

Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-senpai.

He’d deleted their numbers not long after the incident when Oikawa lashed out, but it seems they kept his. There’s a clash of emotions in his chest with that realization, a spark of dangerous hope that threatens to take flame, and a cold douse of frustration. Tobio doesn’t know what to do about those missed calls, so for now he opts for nothing. He finishes his food, and Milk Bread finishes hers, which gives him an excuse to clean for a while. His dish and hers, the ones Milk Bread broke the night before, the boxes she knocked over in the corner of the living room. Busywork that lets him procrastinate looking at his phone again.

Of course there’s only so much work to be done, and Tobio hasn’t crossed that thin line into subjecting himself to homework to avoid his problems. Not yet. He settles down onto the couch, grateful for Milk Bread’s comforting weight on his lap a few seconds later, and finally picks up his phone.

It looks the same of course. Five missed calls from one number, eight from the other. Tobio never checked the time last night when Milk Bread woke him, but he’s sure they must have come after he’d run back upstairs. He knows he was terrified out of his mind, but he’s pretty sure he would have remembered his phone ringing. It would have startled him enough to be memorable.

Which brings him back to _why_? Why did they call, both of them, so many times in a row, so late at night?

He won’t get answers just staring at his lock screen, as inconvenient as it is, so Tobio sucks in a deep breath and holds it as he finally unlocks his phone. Relief whooshes through his lungs when he checks his call log and sees no voicemails waiting for him. Although it means no answers, at least he won’t have to hear their voices.

Of course, just as he thinks he’s escaped unscathed, thinks that he can delete the calls and pretend they never happened, he sees the little notification bubble on the text messenger app. _Let it be Miwa_ , he thinks desperately. _Please let it be Miwa_. His thumb hovers over the app, and Milk Bread either has horrible timing, or she knows and wants him to get it over with, because she bonks her head against his hand with an indignant meow, his thumb making contact with the screen.

02:37AM

[Unknown]: Are you okay??

03:02AM

[Unknown]: Tobio please answer your phone. I’m sorry. We just need to know if you’re okay.

Tobio drops his phone down on the cushion next to him on the couch as if it scalded him, staring at the messages when it lands face up. He threads his fingers into Milk Bread’s fur and focuses on the rumbling beneath his palm as she purrs to keep himself grounded. As much as he can, anyway.

There’s an answer to his questions floating just out of reach, as if taunting him from his blindspot. A reason they would have called, why they would want to know if he’s okay. Two answers, actually. He dreads both, but one is far more unbearable than the other. Because they either found out what happened to him, somehow, and decided to call that late at night or…

Against every fibre of better judgement in his body, Tobio picks up his phone.

10:19AM

[Me]: I’m fine.

10:19AM

~~[Me]: why are you~~

~~[Me]: how did~~

[Me]: why

Tobio startles and nearly drops his phone when it almost immediately begins to ring, the number he was texting printed across the screen. Tobio grimaces when he reacts on impulse, his thumb pressing down on red before it can ring a second time.

10:20AM

[Unknown]: damn it Tobio, please just answer.

His phone rings again, and this time it’s fully intentional when he rejects the call, irritation coiling in his chest. When his phone rings a third time, Tobio shouts wordlessly and tosses it aside on the couch, mindful enough to gently nudge Milk Bread off of his lap instead of dumping her as he stands and stomps away from the living room to the kitchen. His phone continues to ring periodically in the background as Tobio paces, hissing numbers under his breath. Tobio manages to memorize counts for the paths he’ll use the most by the time the ringing gives up, and he returns to the couch.

Not counting the two he rejected, there are seven new missed calls, and several texts. It takes all of Tobio’s self control not to simply delete the conversation without opening them. He’s honestly not sure why he doesn’t.

10:23AM

[Unknown]: Tobio please pick up

10:29AM

[Unknown]: please.

10:37AM

[Unknown]: please

10:43AM

[Unknown]: please

10:51AM

[Unknown]: I’m sorry, Tobio.

There’s a tight feeling twisting and curling in Tobio’s chest, one he can’t identify. One that must explain his flash of irritation and the reply that comes with it.

11:03AM

[Me]: Don’t call me that.

11:04AM

[Unknown]: Okay. Sorry Kageyama.

Tobio sighs and closes his eyes against a wave of sudden exhaustion. This whole thing, this mess with his soulmates, it’s so _tiring_. He wonders if it’s the same for them.

11:07AM

[Me]: I don’t want to talk on the phone.

11:09AM

[Unknown]: Wouldn’t have guessed

[Unknown]: sorry, that was shitty

Tobio can’t help it. He snorts softly and rolls his eyes, trying to ignore a painful pang of fondness now that he pieces together which of them he’s texting.

11:11AM

[Me]: It’s fine Iwaizumi-san.

There’s no immediate response, so Tobio decides it’s probably safe to ignore his phone long enough to get upstairs and find some clothes for the day. Milk Bread is close on his heels as he walks upstairs, and she rolls around unhelpfully on his bed as he tries to lay out and sort through his clothes. There’s an entire pile of clothes he doesn’t need, which Tobio pats invitingly, but Milk Bread seems content, insistent even, to lay on the clothes Tobio wants to wear today. After losing an embarrassingly long staring contest with her, Tobio returns his attention to his phone. When there’s still no response, he huffs impatiently and frowns.

11:34AM

[Me]: why did you call last night

[Me]: both of you

11:39AM

[Unknown]: we wanted to know if you were okay

Tobio rolls his eyes, pausing before he answers to reluctantly add them both back to his contacts. At the very least, he’ll know which number belongs to the more rational of the two, and which one to avoid entirely.

11:41AM

[Me]: you said that already. why

11:43AM

[Iwaizumi]: do you still have the wall up?

Tobio reers back and clenches his hand over his phone, ashamed of how quickly his eyes sting with the threat of unshed tears. His vision blurs as his fingers stab ruthlessly at his keyboard, sending one frantic message after another. How dare he? How _dare_ he?

11:44AM

[Me]: what does that have to do with anything

[Me]: of course I do

[Me]: I did what you asked why would I take it down

11:44AM

[Iwaizumi]: I’m sorry I had to ask

[Iwaizumi]: we could feel through it

11:45AM

[Me]: how could you ask me

Tobio stops short, accidentally sending his unfinished message. Iwaizumi seems to be giving him time to collect his thoughts, but Tobio is still feeling petty enough not to let himself be grateful.

11:47AM

[Me]: what

11:51AM

[Iwaizumi]: we were feeling things through the bond

[Iwaizumi]: through the wall I guess

11:54AM

[Iwaizumi]: our noses hurt and then it kind of felt like we were dying

[Iwaizumi]: when it wasn’t us we called you

Tobio crawls onto his bed and curls up next to Milk Bread, once again thoroughly convinced that the universe must really have it out to get him. As unbearable as it was to think that Oikawa and Iwaizumi had somehow found out about his hand, Tobio dreaded this possibility more. It’s been lurking in the back of his mind ever since he was able to feel the hint of a bond with Hinata even through the wall. It should be a miracle that his soulmates didn’t feel anything when his father attacked him and broke his hand, but Tobio knows better. Through that pain and fear, he’d fixated on protecting them from it. He didn’t do that last night, and this confirms it. The wall is getting weaker.

“I’ll have to try harder,” Tobio whispers to Milk Bread. She murps softly in response to his voice, and Tobio chooses to hear that as agreement.

12:09PM

[Me]: sorry.

[Me]: it won’t happen again.

12:11PM

[Iwaizumi]: you don’t have to apologize Tobio.

[Iwaizumi]: Kageyama. I should have said Kageyama.

[Iwaizumi]: what happened?

Tobio resists the sudden urge to hurl his phone across the room at the wall, the desire to see it in a dozen tiny pieces instead of in his hand. He settles for tossing it to the other side of the bed, and buries his face into the mattress. There’s a part of him that _hates_ Iwaizumi for this. For texting him, for caring enough to ask if he’s okay but not enough to accept him. For being kind. It would be easier, or at least...easier to understand maybe, if they’d treat him horribly. Although, Oikawa is already pretty much there, Tobio realizes, as he thinks of being pushed against a wall, angry words snapped at him just hours before his world crumbled around him. And yet, Oikawa also called him. Whether it was out of duty to Iwaizumi or to Tobio, he isn’t sure.

Just as he’s thinking that this is getting him nowhere, Tobio feels a weight crawl onto his back, followed by tiny pinpricks on his skin as Milk Bread begins to knead at his shoulder. “Ow!” Tobio cries out. “Okay, okay. I’m done.” Tobio sits up slowly so Milk Bread has time to climb off of him, and he can’t help but smile faintly when she settles down on top of his phone, giving him the perfect excuse not to answer Iwaizumi. Instead, he gets dressed in his now cat free clothes.

Focusing on Milk Bread is a good reminder that he’s still not sure where she came from, or how she got inside. This of course reignites his hope that she’s a stray, and he reasons that he won’t know until he asks. Tobio doesn’t love the idea of knocking on his neighbor’s door and talking to a stranger. But it’s a far more attractive option than continuing his conversation with Iwaizumi, so Tobio pockets his phone without responding and scoops Milk Bread into his arms.

\-----

Tobio shuffles nervously after knocking on his neighbor’s door, trying not to squeeze Milk Bread too tightly with his nerves. He isn’t sure what he’s expecting his neighbor to be like, but the man who answers isn’t it.

He’s tall and well built, with blonde hair tied back on top and shaved on the sides. Tobio’s eyes catch on the tattoos on his arms and the piercings glinting on his ears, eyebrow, and nose. His stomach twists and he almost takes a step back, wishing he’d picked the house on the other side of him instead. But then the man smiles, and Tobio is caught off guard by the gentle warmth.

“Ah, Kageyama-kun, yeah?” The man asks, eyes brightening when he looks at Milk Bread. “Did she sneak in on you, too?”

“Eh...huh?” Tobio stammers intelligently, earning a chuckle from the man.

“I moved in about a year ago,” he explains. “She snuck in at some point, I think when I was lugging everything inside.”

Tobio blinks and looks down at Milk Bread. “So that’s how you got in,” he murmurs. Milk Bread looks up at him and chirps loudly, and Tobio wonders if he’s imagining the smug tone. He then remembers that the man asked him a question, and he startles as he stands up straighter. “Ah, um. Yes. I’m Kageyama.” Tobio bows as carefully as he can with Milk Bread in his arms.

The man’s gentle smile is still on his face when Tobio looks at him again. “It’s nice to meet you Kageyama-kun. I’m Harres-Ikari Kai, but you can call me Kai. Less of a mouthful.”

“Uh...hai,” Tobio nods, trying not to be too awkward. Kai doesn’t seem to mind either way.

“So, what’d you need?” Kai asks, tilting his head. “No offense, kid, but you don’t seem the type to visit the neighbors just to meet and chat.”

Tobio flushes and resists the urge to hide his face in Milk Bread’s fur. “Ah, um. Right. I was wondering about Milk Bread—“ Tobio flushes brightly when the name slips out and Kai raises a brow. “The cat! I mean the cat.”

Kai’s face splits into a wide grin as he laughs loudly. “Milk Bread huh?” Helpfully, or perhaps unhelpfully, Milk Bread meows in response to her name, dragging another laugh out of Kai. “It seems she approves. Sorry, sorry.” Kai apologizes and waves his hands when he catches sight of Tobio’s burning face. “Keep going.”

Tobio huffs out a heavy sigh. “I was wondering if she belongs to anyone.”

Kai immediately softens, that warm gentle smile curving his lips again. “Oh. No, she doesn’t. She’s a stray. A couple of us pitch in to feed her, but no one’s been able to take her in. But now…?”

“I’d like to,” Tobio murmurs, giving in and resting his chin on Milk Bread’s head. She immediately begins to purr with the contact.

“Wait here a moment,” Kai instructs. He steps inside his house and is gone for less than a minute, returning with a card in his hand. “I brought her to this vet a few months ago. You’ll probably want to get her checked out before you take her in, and they’re already a bit familiar at least?”

Tobio takes the card and lets the rush of gratitude flowing through him bend him into a bow. “Thank you very much!”

“Ah, well,” Kai rubs a hand over the back of his neck, a bit of pink on his cheeks. “It’s nothing, but you’re welcome. And...hey.” Kai pauses while Tobio straightens out of his bow and looks at him again.

“You ever need anything, don’t hesitate to come over here, alright? Miwa told me which nights you’re here alone, in case something ever happens. Actually, give me your phone and I’ll put my number in so you have that too.”

Tobio fumbles to pull his phone out of his pocket and unlock it before handing it over to Kai. “Do you...know my sister well?”

“Hm?” Kai hums as he taps his number in. “Oh, yeah. We went to high school together. Miwa was my best friend back then. I ended up in the States for college, when my dads moved back there. Came back to Japan a year ago, and Miwa helped me find this place.”

Tobio pockets his phone when Kai hands it back, and tries to remember if Miwa ever mentioned someone named Kai. He doesn’t think she did. With some mortification, Tobio realizes he must have mumbled that to himself, because Kai clears his throat awkwardly.

“I had a different name back then,” Kai rubs the back of his neck again. “I didn’t...uh. I didn’t transition until I got to the States.” Tobio’s confusion must be evident on his face, because Kai huffs a quiet laugh. “Don’t worry about it. You can look it up later, ask your sister. She’ll explain. Point is, I’m here if you ever need anything, okay?” He smiles that gentle smile again, and Tobio nods.

“Hai,” he agrees. “Thank you, Kai-san.”

\-----

Tobio calls Miwa to ask about keeping Milk Bread, and he’s almost confused at how excited she is by the idea. She helps him make a list of everything he’ll need, and guides him through setting Milk Bread’s vet appointment.

It takes a lot of leg work, hauling everything home and setting it all up. To be fair, Tobio probably didn’t _need_ to buy this many beds or cat towers, but he couldn’t help it. Miwa transferred a good sum of money to his account to use on supplies, and Tobio can’t help but want to spoil Milk Bread.

Her vet appointment goes well—Tobio is pretty sure he is more upset watching her get shots than she is getting them. They check on her eye as well, and Tobio has to swallow against a lump in his throat when it’s confirmed that she’s blind in the same eye Tobio is.

At the end of it all, Tobio has a large fluffy cat that follows him around the house, meows constantly, and purrs loudly when she lays on his lap at the end of the day.

Tobio has no explanation for why he does it, but just before he turns in for bed that night, he takes out his phone and opens his conversation with Iwaizumi, looking at where he left it.

12:11PM

[Iwaizumi]: what happened

22:19PM

[Me]: stray cat got into my house and spooked me

22:23PM

[Iwaizumi]: you were feeling all of that...because of a cat

22:27PM

[Me]: I thought someone broke in. I was home alone

22:29PM

[Iwaizumi]: -typing-

22:36PM

[Iwaizumi]: sorry. would have scared me too. what did you do with the cat

22:37PM

[Me]: keeping her

[Me]: her name is Milk Bread

22:39PM

[Iwaizumi]: -typing-

22:41PM

[Iwaizumi]: -typing-

22:43PM

[Iwaizumi]: -typing-

It’s only after watching Iwaizumi starting to type and then stopping several more times that Tobio realizes what he just sent. That he just...admitted to naming his cat after Oikawa’s favorite food. Tobio frantically tries to think of what he can say to get out of this, but he finally gets a response from Iwaizumi before he can.

22:47PM

[Iwaizumi]: you should get some sleep Kageyama.

[Iwaizumi]: good night

Tobio heaves out a sigh of relief and quickly responds before Iwaizumi changes his mind.

22:48PM

[Me]: good night Iwaizumi-san.

\-----

Tobio isn’t surprised when, by the time the week is over and he gets home Friday afternoon, he’s restless as all hell and can’t stop pacing around the house. Milk Bread follows diligently, not seeming to mind as Tobio traces the same pathways over and over even though he’s had the counts memorized for days now. School has been…as okay as it can be, the few days Tobio went this week. Which is to say, not great. People who never spoke to Tobio before want to know where he disappeared to, and there seem to be some strange rumors about how his hand ended up in a splint.

Tobio can piece together how the rumors happened, but it doesn’t mean he likes it. It’s no secret, what happened at that match. People know that the team refused to hit Tobio’s toss, and they know why. They also know that Tobio then disappeared for two weeks, only to return with a broken hand. It’s only natural that a rumor would start that the volleyball team were the ones who broke his hand. And somehow, there’s an alarming number of people who believe it. Who somehow think his teammates hated him enough to…

To do what his father did.

Tobio firmly and loudly denounces it whenever he hears it in his vicinity, but his inability to offer the truth isn’t helping things. He’s settled for saying it was an accident, that he fell and landed wrong on his way home. But that can’t explain his lengthy absence, or his cagey behavior. As far as Tobio can tell, there are three camps of people. Those who believe that it was an accident and don’t believe the rumors. Those who believe the rumors, and slide glares and insults at the volleyball team. And those who believe the rumors, and think Tobio got what he deserved, glares and insults hurled his way instead.

Tobio hasn’t told Miwa yet. He knows he’s technically breaking his promise, but he can’t bring himself to do this to her. To admit that he’s been back at school for three days and is already wishing he’d never gone back at all. He still has a few hours before she’ll arrive from Tokyo to spend the weekend with him. He needs to get himself together by then. Usually he’d use volleyball to calm down, but he can’t exactly do that right now.

Although...perhaps he can get close. He has a six to eight week recovery period ahead of him, one he’s determined to make as close to six as possible. He can’t go back to the team after he’s healed. He was already planning on quitting after what happened. The mess of the rumor at school only solidifies his decision. But he still intends to play, which means he needs to find a court. Perhaps even a community team. It worked well last time, when Tobio needed to learn how to play again with his eye. This isn’t...exactly the same. It’s not his hand that he needs to work around. It’s _him_. His temper, his pride, his frustrations. Maybe a community team is what he needs. Something without the pressure of needing to win.

Finding a court is a good way to distract himself until Miwa arrives. Tobio remembers her pointing out a park, during the drive from the old house to this one. With several high schools in the area, all known to have volleyball teams, it’s as good a place as any to check. Tobio reluctantly leaves Milk Bread behind—judging by the way she flops across the couch and immediately settles in to nap, Tobio doesn’t think she minds.

The park is relatively quiet, which isn’t all that surprising. It’s the first week of November, and there’s a hint of cold in the air. A premonition of the colder, harsher weather to come in the next few weeks. Tobio frowns and walks faster. He needs to find a court or a community team before winter comes, find out what kind of indoor space they use for practice so he has one too.

When he does finally find a court, he’s disappointed to find it empty. It’s nothing special, and the net isn’t even set up, but Tobio knows the dimensions of a court when he sees one. He steps onto the smooth pavement, and is pleased when his count from the boundary line to where the net would be is correct. The slight curve on his lips falls when he suddenly feels an odd pressure nudging against the wall of his bond. Before he has a chance to try and figure out where it’s coming from, there’s a scuffing sound behind him. Tobio whirls around, and freezes when he sees bright, wild, orange.

“What are _you_ doing here?!” Hinata Shouyou shouts at him, echoing Tobio’s thoughts exactly.

Well. He did ask for a distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y’all enjoyed the chapter! Kai won’t play a huge role in this story, but he is an OC cameo from some of my bnha fics, so anyone who reads those may recognize him. I just like him too much not to sneak him into other stories sometimes. 
> 
> Milk Bread is officially Tobio’s cat, and we have reached the Tobio-Hinata reunion much earlier than in canon! That is one of the things I’ve been most looking forward to writing for this story. 
> 
> Until next time, I hope everyone is doing well and I’m sending warm thoughts your way.

**Author's Note:**

> main tumblr: [liarielle](https://liarielle.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Haikyuu tumblr: [bokubroya](https://bokubroya.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
